“Oh! my, I hope now he wasn’t there when Bumpus came along,” remarked Step Hen, as if comprehending the thought that had taken form in the mind of his comrade.
“What’s this mean, Thad?” asked Allen, just then, pointing down close to his feet; and the other three uttered various exclamations when they saw what he was referring to.
“Spots of dried blood!” gasped Giraffe.
“It is, now, for a fact,” Step Hen followed with, “Oh! that cat must have jumped on poor old Bumpus, and clawed him up something scandalous. He bled like a stuck pig, as he ran off. And see here, where something’s been just dragging along the ground. What if he’s wounded so bad he had to pull one leg after him? This is just awful, fellers. Poor old Bumpus!”
But Thad and Allan somehow did not seem to join with the others in feeling sorry. At least they made no remarks. And as they all walked slowly on, following the blood-stained tracks, if Giraffe or Step Hen, instead of keeping their eyes so closely upon the ground, had ventured to raise them a little, so as to take in the faces of their chums, doubtless their surprise would have been great to notice that Thad wore a broad smile, while Allan was making various suggestive gestures, and winking one eye in the direction of the scoutmaster.
So they walked slowly forward a score or more of paces, when Giraffe and Step Hen were once more startled. This time it was not by the sudden appearance of a ferocious wild beast, but only the voice of Allan calling out:
“Oh! look! look! whatever can that be, hanging yonder from the limb of that tree?”
CHAPTER XI.
BUMPUS’ STOCK ABOVE PAR.
“Same old cat again!” burst out Giraffe; and he was in the act of raising his gun, to his shoulder this time, when Thad caught hold of it.
“Don’t be silly, Giraffe!” cried the patrol leader.